


Until There is No End

by foxxing (gayfantasticfour)



Category: GOT7
Genre: ALRIGHT THIS SAYS MAJOR VIOLENCE but it's really not??, Crime!AU, I just didn't want to blindside anyone w/ it so there's a violence warning, M/M, Rough Sex, also junior kills people but it's only mentioned not described, but it's pretty brief + at the end, detective!jb, im so sorry, serial killer!junior, theres a mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 14:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5629723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayfantasticfour/pseuds/foxxing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Park Jinyoung, an elusive murder suspect, has been seducing Detective Im Jaebum behind everyone's backs all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until There is No End

**Author's Note:**

> OK SO this started out as me just wanting to write a one off for michele because I was bored and then it turned into this and she told me to publish it.,,, so here I am,,,
> 
> **like I said above there's a MENTION of suicide but it's not detailed, and the mention of junior killing people is also just a mention/it's not described!
> 
> title comes from a song by Lorn of the same name.
> 
> anyway I might turn this into an actual AU if people are into it, we'll see, idk bro!!!!

The white noise of the city beneath him reminds him of the sound of blood rushing in his ears when he closes his eyes. The wind bites at the exposed skin of his face as he imagines the streets below him as the veins in a complex circulatory system; the cars are tiny blood cells, always moving back and forth in an ever rotating motion. A cruel smile lifts one corner of his mouth when he imagines the people milling on the sidewalks and in the alleyways as what they are: diseases. Diseases infecting the delicate ecosystem of his city at which he is the epicenter; a dark heart pumping poisoned blood into the limbs that need to be removed. This city belongs to him, whether it knows it or not. And because this city is his, he’ll eradicate every parasite crawling within it until his last breath. 

Some call it being a psychopath, some call it vigilante justice. Comme si comme sa. 

The bitter wind whips his suit jacket out behind him, and he wonders idily what difference it would make if he wore a cape when he killed. Would those that had seen him in the act view it as more reasonable if he was dressed in a costume, rather than seeing only a blank-faced man in a dry cleaned suit beating someone to death with a hammer? He does not know. At this point, he doesn’t think it matters. They already had a name for him, anyway. 

The Dark Man. 

He doesn’t like it. It’s fitting, he supposes—the impeccably clean and well fitting suit he always wears is completely black, down to the details on the lapels of the jacket and the embellishment emblazoned on the pocket. His hair, dark as well, but his eyes—it’s his eyes they say give him the nickname of The Dark Man—if you’re unlucky enough to meet him face to face, his eyes are what get you. One person who had been lucky enough to escape his grasp had described it as “looking into the very depths of hell while getting sucked into a black hole”. So The Dark Man might be fitting, but it’s too… villaneous. He prefers something with a little less implication, like The Man in Black. That, he thinks, sounds like it could go either way. 

“What are you doing?”

The voice that comes from behind him is rough; tired sounding like the owner of it had been awake for days. Perhaps he had been. He wonders if it’s because of the case. Jinyoung looks down at the city below him again without answering right away. Crouched on the ledge of the oldest building in the district, knees drawn to his chest with his ass resting against the backs of his ankles, he’s in the perfect position for jumping off the edge and to the ground 30 stories below them. He thinks about this, but he doesn’t do it—he isn’t done with this city, not yet. It needs him.

Instead, he rests his chin on one knee and doesn’t turn around. “I think I should be asking you that.”

The man behind him sighs loudly enough to be heard before the wind snatches the sound away from them. “What do you want?”

This time, Jinyoung does turn. He stands with his feet mere inches from the edge of the building, hands shoved casually in his suit pockets. The sharp wind coming off the Han a few miles away runs its cold fingers through his hair as he stands there. The man in front of him doesn’t look alarmed, just tired: even in the dimness of the lights on the roof and the ones coming from below, Jinyoung can see the dark circles pressed underneath the man’s eyes like twin bruises. He wonders if they’re because of him. “You know what I want, Detective.”

The man steps closer, into more of the light pooling on the rooftop in a sickly orange glow. He’s beautiful, there’s no arguing that, and even the tiredness that lines his face only ecentuates the hard line of his cheekbones, sunken in like he hasn’t been eating. Even in the dimness Jinyoung can make out the two small moles above his eye, two angel’s kisses he’s traced with his own lips countless times. The shirt he’s wearing is black, buttoned to the neck like always, underneath the same tan tweed suit Jinyoung has seen in the darkness of his dreams a thousand times over. Each time the suit ends up the same color: red, blood red. 

The Detective’s leather shoes click on the hard, cracking cement as he steps a little bit closer. “No, I don’t. We’ve been playing this game too long, Park. I think you’ve lost sight of how it ends."

He won’t admit it, but this confuses him. Shaking his head, his mouth lifts up at the corner in a half smile. “I don’t think so. If anyone’s lost sight of how this ends, it’s you. It won’t end like you think it will, Detective." 

The Detective is still out of arm’s reach, but one step and he’ll be able to grab Jinyoung by the front of the shirt. The Detective shoves his hands in the pockets of his pants, and now that his hips are exposed by the movement of his jacket, Jinyoung can see the gun strapped into its holster around the Detective’s slim waist. He looks up at Jinyoung. "How so?”

Jinyoung almost imperceptibly takes a step back, feeling empty air beneath his shoe. The rush of the wind seems to get louder, deafening him as he prepares to drop into the unknown. There’s a swelling in his chest that makes him feel like he’s going to burst, and he wonders fleetingly if this is what being in love feels like. He moves his other foot back. Unfortunately for him, though, the Detective’s eyes and hands have always been better than his own, and faster, too. Before Jinyoung can go teetering over the side of the roof, the Detective snatches forward and grabs a fistful of Jinyoung’s shirt, yanking him forward and down off the ledge. 

Jinyoung, off balance, stumbles into the Detective, who steadies him with two hands on his waist. A cruel smile splits Jinyoung’s face: here they are again, wrapped up in an intimacy that neither of them can explain. This close, he feels the Detective’s heart kick into a quicker beat. Jinyoung tips his head back, mere inches shorter than the Detective who tenses like he’s preparing to push Jinyoung away. But Jinyoung just holds on, both hands fisted in the rough material of the tweed suit jacket he’s slid off the Detective’s shoulders a hundred times already in seedy motel rooms or bar bathrooms 30 miles away, where no one knows their faces if they’re not paying attention. The Detective thinks that this isn’t going to end the way Jinyoung wants it to, but the fact is that he’s wrong: when Jinyoung licks his lips and watches as the Detective’s eyes go, almost unconsciously, to follow the movement, Jinyoung knows that this will end exactly how he wants it to. 

Their bodies pressed together generates a heat that has the silk of Jinyoung’s shirt sticking to his stomach. The Detective’s hand slides up off his hip and into the curve of his back. The touch makes Jinyoung shiver, and it’s not faked: out of all the other men he’s seduced, the Detective is the only one who has ever made him feel this way. Like his whole body is being doused in gasoline, and when the Detective finally finds his mouth and covers it with his own, it feels like going up in flames. 

A sigh escapes Jinyoung’s mouth when their lips touch, and he feels the Detective’s hand fist in his shirt at the small of his back. Their kiss isn’t sweet: it deteriorates quickly into roughness, constantly biting at each other’s mouths and yanking on each other’s hair. The Detective is stronger than him, a point that Jinyoung had to concede when they came to this, and he lets himself be manhandled by the Detective until he’s pushed against the rough wall of the stairwell. 

Jinyoung should have never let the Detective get this close to him; this vulnerability scares him, makes him seem touchable. But then the Detective is sliding both hands up Jinyoung’s sides underneath his suit jacket, and the heat from his hands and the smoothness of the silk has him moaning softly. Jinyoung whines as the Detective bites bruises into his neck, finding the sensitive spot under his jaw and sucking until Jinyoung is grinding his hips against the other man’s, feeling the sharp stab of pleasure when their erections touch. Jinyoung grabs a handful of the Detective’s copper hair, pulling until he feels a growl against his throat. 

It’s always been like this, anytime they fucked. The Detective taking out some unnamed frustration on him, kissing and biting him swollen and bruised; fucking him into the shitty motel beds so hard and deep he feels like could disappear inside of them. Jinyoung thinks that part of it is because the Detective hates himself for feeling this way about a murder suspect, and so he fucks his hate into him like he thinks it’ll go away if he does. But it won’t. And Jinyoung knows it. 

With one hand fisted in the rust colored strands and the other on the Detective’s belt, Jinyoung says the one thing he’s never been allowed to say: on a hushed, desperate whine, he breathes, “Jaebum.”

The Detective freezes under him, the hands working his shirt free of his dress pants gone still. Jaebum looks up, eyes blazing. “Don’t say my name." 

Jinyoung can still feel Jaebum’s erection pressing urgently into his own, and he knows he’s going to win this. Jinyoung removes his hand from the Detective’s hair and pulls at his tie, wrapping it around his knuckles. "Jaebum." 

Jaebum looks like he’s going to hit him. Instead, the eyes in his face seems to darken even further, the pupils swallowing up every millimeter of color. He slams their mouths together again, hands working faster to pull the rest of Jinyoung’s shirt free from his pants until he’s got both palms flat against his stomach. Jinyoung breathes in when Jaebum breathes out, the exchange making Jinyoung feel lightheaded. He yanks on Jaebum’s tie harder, pulling him closer, until Jinyoung is pushed so hard against the cold concrete wall that he can feel the cracks in it through his jacket. Jaebum’s hips grind almost painfully against him, dragging a moan from his throat that echoes down the abandoned stairwell. He can’t help it, Jinyoung’s never been able to control himself around the detective, in a way that frightens him. Every breath and whine that is pulled from him by the men he seduces has to be earned, but with Jaebum he gets them freely, with barely a featherlight stroke of his fingers against Jinyoung’s bare skin. A white-hot anger ignites in him like a flashbang. It spurs him into movement, and the rage he feels at himself has him arching his back off the wall and rolling his hips impatiently into Jaebum’s. "C'mon, detective,” he snarls, and he shoves the jacket off Jaebum’s shoulders angrily. “If you’re gonna fuck me, fuck me.”

Jaebum grabs the collar of Jinyoung’s shirt and yanks hard, his face impassive even as the first four buttons come apart from the fabric and rattle to the floor. With the skin of his shoulders and chest exposed, Jaebum fists his hand in the shirt and bites down hard on Jinyoung’s collarbone. And this is how it usually is, too; Jaebum’s anger is the kindling that can’t burn out, it won’t die until he’s sated or until he’s bitten enough bruises into Jinyoung’s skin like the promise of a real fight. 

Jinyoung pushes at Jaebum’s chest roughly, trying to get enough space between them to pop the buttons on his shirt. Without warning, Jaenum savagely grabs Jinyoung’s wrist and twists, almost growling when Jinyoung shouts in pain. Then Jaebum is using the momentum to turn him around and push him back into the wall, face first. The cold concrete scrapes the skin underneath his eye, and he feels the trickle of hot blood where it runs down his cheek like tears. 

No words pass between them as Jaebum unbuckles Jinyoung’s belt from behind and drops it unceremoniously to the floor. Their ragged breathing has risen until it echoes off the walls, coming back to them like the sounds of animals fighting. Jinyoung braces his forearms against the wall as Jaebum yanks his dress pants down, barely letting them fall to midthigh before he’s working two spit-slicked fingers inside him. He grits his teeth against the burn, his breath pulling out of him in broken gasps until he’s rocking back against Jaebum’s fingers and begging for it in sawed off pleas. 

For a moment, he’s shocked: he doesn’t beg. Park Jinyoung has never begged a man to fuck him in his life; the men do all the begging. But the way the detective is working his fingers against his prostate like he wasn’t born for anything else has Jinyoung absolutely whining for it. He drops his head painfully against the concrete wall like it’ll clear the uncertainty.

“God, I fucking—” Jaebum pulls his fingers back, and Jinyoung feels his knuckles brush against the bare skin of his ass at the same time he hears Jaebum’s belt coming undone. And then Jaebum is grabbing him by both hips, gripping them like if he does it hard enough he can tattoo his fingerprints on the skin. The last of his sentence is breathed out, strained, as he lines up and slides in until they’re flush together: “I fucking hate you.”

The fullness is almost too much: tears squeeze themselves out of the corners of Jinyoung’s eyes even as he turns his head to look at the detective over his shoulder, cruel smirk upturning the side of his mouth. “Then prove it.”

Jaebum’s hand comes up to grip the back of his neck, forcing him to turn his head back around until Jinyoung is leaning his forehead against the wall with his eyes closed. He keeps himself braced on both forearms while Jaebum starts to move, pushing in and out of him slowly at first until finally he starts to fuck into him violently. Jinyoung loses himself in the feeling of it, so hateful and angry, but Jaebum’s been fucking him like this behind the scenes for so long that he knows that he’ll never have Detective Im Jaebum any other way but this. Jinyoung leans up onto his hands, elbows locked, and drops his head between them. He rolls his hips back into Jaebum’s thrusts even as they come up quickly, the collision of their bodies like a crash test car. Jaebum shoves Jinyoung’s shirt up with the heel of his hand, planting his large palm in the center of his back and digging his blunt nails in until it almost hurts. Jinyoung whimpers, his dick achingly hard where it curves up against his stomach. Jaebum drags his nails down his spine, and the sensation sends hot currents of electricity through his abdomen. He gasps, hips bucking, and he barely has time to pull in another breath when Jaebum is reaching around and wrapping his long fingers around Jinyoung’s dick. 

The feeling almost shatters him, and the noise that escapes from his mouth sounds halfway between a cry and a shout. Jinyoung wonders how many triggers these fingers have pulled even as they work him up and down, squeezing gently on the upstroke in a way that has Jinyoung’s chest tightening like he’s having a heart attack. He wonders how much blood Jaebum’s scrubbed from under his nails as he runs the pad of his thumb over the head of Jinyoung’s dick, another ragged cry breaking away from him. Jaebum fucks into him like its the last thing he’s going to do before he dies, either one of them. Jinyoung’s teetering on the edge, his stomach tightening and the entire lower half of his body feeling like it’s doused in gasoline. With a final thrust, Jinyoung is coming apart underneath the detective, his orgasm tearing through him like a shockwave. His entire mind is wiped blank as he comes, his hands fisted painfully against the broken concrete as Jaebum thrusts a final one, two, three times. Jaebum’s nails dig painfully into the skin of his hips where he has both hands now, holding Jinyoung flush to him as he shudders and sighs through his release. 

The silence that follows is punctuated only by the ragged hush of their breathing. All at once Jaebum pulls out of him with a slick sounding noise that buries itself in Jinyoung’s ears, his dick twitching. The emptiness left behind spreads through him until he feels cavernous: he drops a shoulder against the wall as he pulls his pants back up, plastering a smile on his face that is the twin of the ones children carve into the surfaces of pumpkins. 

By the time he buckles his pants back up and ignores the way that come sticks the silk of his shirt to his skin, he turns around to find that the detective is already completely pulled together and standing away from him at the top of the stairs. His face is flushed, and his copper colored hair is slicked back from his face with sweat that Jinyoung can see still dampens his hairline and the dip in his throat. Their routine standoff begins: they watch each other carefully now, waiting for the other to move first. Jinyoung glances at the way Jaebum’s left hand is situated near the gun at his hip, where it always falls, even if he doesn’t realize it. 

Jinyoung glances at it. “Are you going to shoot me now?” This is the question he asks every time. 

“No." 

Jinyoung cards a hand through his own hair and doesn’t miss the way that the detective follows the movement. He purposely rests his hand over the bare skin of his still exposed chest, fingers splayed. "We can’t play this game forever, Detective.”

“I know,” Jaebum says, face still wiped trademark clean, and then he’s putting one hand on the railing of the stairs, turning slightly. “So do us both a favor and jump.”

He turns and immediately starts to bang his way down the stairs. Stepping forward, Jinyoung leans over to watch him, eyes following him down, down, down as he turns each new corner to get further away. The door opens at the bottom, spilling ugly yellow light in from the street until Jaebum is letting it slam shut behind him. The sound echoes up toward Jinyoung like a gunshot, and when it reaches him, he smiles. 

He wonders how many times Detective Im Jaebum will turn his back on him before Jinyoung kills him, too.


End file.
